


too many colors

by zapfinoo



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: A Very Eventful House Party, Alternate Universe - High School, Bisexual Thomas, Childhood Friends, Coming Out, Coming of Age, Eventual Happy Ending, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gay Newt, Happy Ending, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Sexuality Crisis, Thomesa besties!, taylor swift songs as matchmakers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:08:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28483665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zapfinoo/pseuds/zapfinoo
Summary: Newt holds his hand up, and Thomas accepts the silent request by raising his own hand and pressing their palms together just like they used to do as kids.“Listen,” Newt continues, intertwining their fingers. His hand is soft and so, so warm. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you can tell me anything.”Thomas has to bite his lip to keep himself from smiling too much. "And I would, but that’s the thing—I don’t know what’s going on either. I think I’m just stressed out, though, so don’t worry.”“Well, let me know when you figure it out, yeah?” Newt murmurs, and then his eyes flutter shut. “We can solve it together, surely.”“Yeah,” Thomas breathes. “We always do.”
Relationships: Newt/Thomas (Maze Runner), Teresa Agnes/Minho (Maze Runner)
Comments: 60
Kudos: 143





	1. pink in the night

**Author's Note:**

> hey whats up fam. happy new year! is yalls passion for tmr fading? cause mine isn’t, and it’s becoming a Problem. i’ve just turned 19 and i cannot let go of this fuckin franchise. in fact, i got a tmr tattoo recently. whoops. i might regret it when i’m older, but then again, this virus going around might also kill us all before that happens. THE IRONY!!!
> 
> anyways. here's a new fic! i don't KNOW WHAT THIS IS or if it's even good, so please let me know what you think. idk how this idea even came to me, but i Think mirrorball by taylor swift might have influenced it. just a thought. also, [these](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6AFXGSstwWepWbvPSTpQMQ?si=H__mpvFCTwKy4Zq_n0Tmqg) songs. (yes i made another spotify playlist)
> 
> tw: drugs (alcohol and weed), underage drinking, mentions of vomit? i think that's it?
> 
> disclaimer: i am a 19-year-old college dropout from sweden, so this is far from perfect. 
> 
> LASTLY here’s thomas’ natal chart because i’m a slut for astrology and i know my boy. leo sun, virgo rising, scorpio moon, sag mercury. and that's on what!?!? i feel like i know him pretty well and how he would act in a modern world, but then again, i might just be projecting. whatever. ENJOY THIS MESS!!

Thomas has been pretty fucking tired lately. 

His best friends, Newt and Teresa, say it’s because he’s a ‘people-pleaser with a savior complex’, and because he puts too much pressure on himself. But he _wants_ to. He wants to get good grades. He wants to run track. He wants to hang out with Minho after practice. He wants to have movie nights with all his friends. He wants to do a lot of things, and if that leaves him feeling mentally and physically exhausted sometimes, then so be it. 

But some days are worse than others. 

Today, for example. 

He walks into school feeling like he’s pretending to be someone that he’s clearly not. He pretends to be a social person when he’s hanging out with a large group of people. He pretends to like the taste of beer at every party. He pretends to be looking forward to graduation even though all he ever longs for the ability to freeze time.

(There might be something else he longs for, but he doesn’t even dare to form the thought in his mind. He refuses.)

Teresa appears out of thin air as soon as Thomas steps foot inside the school building. She wraps an arm around his waist, breaking him out of his trance.

“Hey, T,” Thomas says, hoping that he sounds relatively normal and not drained of all energy. 

“Hi, my little lion,” Teresa replies, giving him a dazzling smile. 

Even though Teresa is a woman of science, she’s always going off about astrology and how much of a _Leo_ Thomas is. She’s always going on about how he’s a natural-born leader, but he disagrees with her on that. He’s never been a natural at anything. Except for running, maybe. Running track, but also running from his problems.

“How was your weekend?” Teresa asks as they make their way through the crowded hallway toward their lockers. 

_Shitty._ Thomas spent his whole weekend up in his room, isolated, with a huge pile of homework on his desk. Teresa had asked him if he wanted to go to a party, but he’d said no, and immediately got anxious about his decision afterward—even though he knows his friends won’t mind if he skips out on something every once in a while. But he just wants to please them, to be there for them, like a good friend should. And when he can’t, he always feels like a bad person. 

But he doesn’t want to bother Teresa with his irrelevant problems, so he puts an arm around her shoulder and smiles at her. “Pretty good. I got a lot of work done. How was yours?”

“Great! We went to Brenda’s,” Teresa explains with clear enthusiasm in her blue eyes. “God, that girl knows how to party.”

“Yeah, she does.” Thomas is speaking from experience. Brenda’s dad goes out of town a lot, so she’s always the one who can host gigantic house parties without any consequences. “What happened this time?”

“Oh, I’ll tell you what happened, Tommy,” a new voice says. Newt comes walking toward them from another hallway on their left and joins Thomas on his other side, linking an arm with his. 

“Hi, Newt,” Thomas says, grinning at his other best friend. He looks, well, kind of _handsome_ today. He’s wearing his favorite hoodie and khaki-colored pants that adds to the warm, friendly energy that always comes radiating off of him in waves. Thomas ducks his head, breaking eye contact with his friend just in case Newt can detect the observation in his gaze somehow. “Shoot.”

“Alright, so. Fry thought it would be a brilliant idea to bake some edibles and bring them to the party,” Newt explains through his thick accent that he somehow never lost despite spending the majority of his childhood here in Denver. Thomas groans because he’s pretty sure he already knows where this story is headed.

They arrive at his locker, and Newt and Teresa stand next to Thomas as he picks out the books that he needs for their first class. 

“Now, I didn’t have any, because those things are bloody terrifying,” Newt continues. Teresa hums in agreement. “Aris, however—”

Thomas looks at them with wide eyes, his personal troubles long forgotten. “ _Aris?_ Why was he even there? He’s, like, fifteen!” 

Aris is the weird kid in their class who’s moved up a few years because he is freakishly smart. He always sits in the cafeteria alone, munching on cornbread. And honestly, he scares Thomas a little bit. Once, at the start of last semester, Thomas felt a little sorry for the kid and asked him if he wanted to join Thomas’ group at their table. Aris had just stared at him, shocked, as if he couldn’t believe that Thomas was talking to him. It made Thomas uncomfortable because he knows that people consider him to be “popular”, but he fucking hates that word and the symbolic power that it gives him. Thomas has a lot of friends, yes, but only because he genuinely enjoys hanging out with every single one of them. Newt and Teresa are probably the only ones who _actually_ know him, though, because they’ve been with him since the beginning of time. That’s what it feels like, at least.

“I _know_ ,” Teresa cuts in, and she genuinely seems to be _buzzing_ with anticipation to continue the story. “We don’t know what the fuck he was doing there. Rachel probably invited him? Anyway, he got ahold of the edibles somehow, and—”

“And the poor bloke managed to eat _three_ of them before Fry noticed and informed him about his inevitable doom,” Newt says, and Thomas laughs out loud at his friend’s hilariously casual attitude toward the situation. Teresa joins in, her whole body shakes with laughter as she leans against Newt.

“Oh, fuck,” Thomas groans. “What happened after that? Do I even wanna know?”

“He freaked out at first, of course,” Teresa tells him. “But I think he wanted to impress Rachel by playing it cool because he seemed to take it pretty well. But then, after an hour or so, we could tell he was feeling _terrible_.”

“I was havin’ a smoke on the balcony when he suddenly showed up out of nowhere,” Newt goes on to say. “And I’m not bloody joking, Tommy, when I say that he did this.”

Suddenly Newt is all up in Thomas’ space, gripping the skin on his forearms where his henley shirt has moved up. He can’t help but notice how warm his friend’s hands are. 

“He said, ‘please, Newt. Is there a cure? Am I gonna die?’” Newt imitates Aris by faking an American accent and slurring his words in a way that Thomas at least _hopes_ is somewhat exaggerated, for Aris’ sake.

“Oh my _God_ ,” Thomas says through a fit of giggles. “Poor kid.”

“Then he got sick on the pavement outside before Rachel could take him home,” Newt says, letting go of him to throw his hands up in a ‘what can you do'gesture. “The whole thing was bizarre, but sort of hilarious as well.”

“You’re heartless,” Thomas exclaims sarcastically, slamming his locker shut. 

“What, there was nothing I could do!” Newt says, placing a hand on his chest and stares at him with his face twisted with fake offense. “He should’ve realized that there was something dodgy about those brownies before he inhaled three of them.”

“Yeah, and who eats other people’s food without asking, anyway?” Teresa asks as they walk into class. 

  
  


There’s a startling knock on Thomas’ window, and he almost jumps ten feet in the air at the harsh sound. 

Newt is standing there in the darkness, on the little ledge below his bedroom window, looking at Thomas with an amused smirk on his face. 

“Are you going to let me in, or what?” Newt asks, voice muffled by the glass.

When they got old enough to climb the tree in Thomas’ backyard, they soon discovered that it’s the perfect way to sneak into his room—and they’ve been doing just that ever since. It’s been a while since the last time, though. That’s growing up, Thomas figures. 

Thomas opens the window and Newt comes tumbling in onto his bed, conveniently located right below the windowsill. A gust of chilly spring air makes its way inside the room before Newt can turn around and close the window. His cheeks are flushed and his hair is windswept, which tells Thomas that he ran here. That’s the best thing about living in the same neighborhood as your best friend—spontaneous meetups.

An instinctive smile spreads across Thomas’ face like it always does at the sight of his friend. “What are you doing here?”

Newt is in the same outfit as he was earlier today, but he looks different in the dim light of Thomas’ room, somehow. Like he’s in his element a bit more. He looks comfortable. Cozy. 

Thomas is hit with a sudden urge to hug him but quickly pushes the thought away. It would be silly, considering they _just_ saw each other at school.

“What, are you not happy to see your best mate?” Newt asks.

“No, I am,” Thomas answers and rolls his eyes. “But we just saw each other, like, five hours ago.”

“So? Are our secret meetings off the table these days, now that we are supposed to _act_ _our age_ or whatever they call it?”

“No,” Thomas says through a surprised laugh. “I guess not.”

“Brilliant,” Newt exclaims and reaches into the pouch of his hoodie, revealing several bags of candy hidden in there. “‘Cause you and I are going to consume an unhealthy amount of sweets tonight and ignore our school work entirely.”

Just like they did every weekend when they were kids. Thomas feels himself getting a little nostalgic, suddenly. 

“Oh, yeah?” Thomas says, grinning so much that his cheeks are starting to hurt. “What about the physics exam next week, huh?”

“To hell with the bloody exam, Tommy,” Newt declares, letting himself fall back on the right side of the bed. _His_ side. “I can’t be arsed.”

Thomas lays down next to Newt on the side closest to the window. They've done this so many times before, so even if it’s been a while since their last sleepover, they settle into the familiar routine with ease. 

“Shut up, you’ll ace it,” Thomas says, bending his body like a crescent moon, drifting toward Newt like a magnet. “You know everything about physics—you discovered gravity, after all.”

“Never heard that one before,” Newt scoffs, but the cranky facade he’s trying to put up loses all of its credibility when he starts smiling, too.

Just as the credits of the shitty disaster movie they just watched starts to roll, Thomas feels Newt’s head drop onto his shoulder. 

“Oh,” Thomas whispers out into the quiet room and smiles to himself. Newt’s soft hair smells like good memories and something sweet that he can’t distinguish. Then he glances at the clock on his phone. It’s 1:24 AM, no wonder Newt fell asleep. 

As if on cue, Thomas’ lock screen lights up with a Snapchat notification from Teresa. 

He opens it—it’s a picture of her face with the butterfly filter on. The corners of her mouth are turned downward in a way that is almost comical. The caption reads, _Tom!! Where’d you go?_

He’d completely forgotten about his on-going conversation that he was having with Teresa before Newt knocked on his window. Thomas takes a photo of himself and Newt with the same filter that Teresa used. The faint glow of his laptop lights them up, and purple butterflies appear on both of their faces. _Sorry, this guy came over. What’s up?_ He writes and sends it to Teresa. 

When Thomas looks up from his phone again, he sees the moon peeking through his window. It’s full tonight, and it casts a mysterious light that spills into his bedroom, like a bright street light. He finds himself unable to look away. 

But Thomas’ phone makes a sound as another notification comes through, breaking him out of his trance. 

Teresa has sent him a photo of several textbooks and notes, lying on top of her desk in a messy pile. _Aww you guys are so cute. Even though you didn’t invite me... Jk I couldn’t go anyway, I’m stuck at home with all this homework :(_

Thomas tilts his phone upward to take a picture of the moon. It’ll probably cheer her up.

 _That sucks, but you can do it!! Look at the moon :) I think it’s full tonight. What does that mean, astrology wise?_ He types out just to get her mind off of studying. 

_I’m glad you asked. It is full and it’s in Libra, which basically means that love is in the air tonight <3 _

Thomas smirks when he reads the new message because he knows exactly how to respond and embarrass Teresa at the same time. 

So he takes a picture of himself with his eyebrows raised in a teasing and persuasive manner. _Text Minho, then_ , Thomas writes on the photo and adds a winky face. 

Ever since Thomas joined the track team and befriended Minho, he’s been a great addition to their group. And Teresa _definitely_ has a crush on him, which is hilarious. 

He has to stifle a laugh when Teresa responds with a picture of her middle finger raised toward the camera. _Text Newt, then!_

Thomas frowns and snaps a photo of them again, depicting Newt sleeping soundly on Thomas’ shoulder in the right corner of the image. _Why??? He’s already here._

After that, Teresa just sends him a photo of her rolling her eyes, and Thomas has no idea how to respond to that. So he doesn’t. 

Thomas doesn’t want to wake Newt himself, so he decides to play some music and hopes that it’ll do the job for him. Reaching for his laptop turns out to be a real struggle—he doesn’t want Newt to fall off and wake up. But Thomas manages after a while and opens YouTube. Then he clicks on a playlist titled “ _beats to sleep/chill to_ ”, hoping the music will wake his friend up gently. 

It does, eventually. Newt lifts his head and asks, “Tommy? What time is it?”

“It’s two in the morning,” Thomas murmurs, gently nudging Newt to lay down, and pulls the covers over them. “Go back to sleep.”

“Shit, we start at half-past eight tomorrow,” Newt says in a voice thick with sleep. “ _Today_ , I mean. We’re fucked.”

“Yeah, but it was worth it,” Thomas says, looking at the empty candy wrappers scattered all over his bed. “Seriously, thank you for coming over. I feel a lot better.” Thomas scoots closer to Newt. His best friend’s consistent ability to cheer him up never fails to amaze him—Newt always knows what he needs, somehow. “You’re my favorite brand of superglue,” Thomas adds with a laugh.

A sleepy smile spreads across Newt’s face at the inside joke. “Glad I could be of service.”

One time when Thomas and Newt were in first grade, their parents tried to separate them after school, but they were dead set on hanging out afterward. So they snuck off to the art studio and put glue on both of their palms, and then held each other’s hands, thinking no one could ever separate them again. 

But they had been wrong, of course. They both cried when their moms held their joined hands in hot water over the sink. Thomas smiles as the fond memory comes back to him in a wave of fuzzy images. 

When he got older, though, he realized that they created a great metaphor that day in first grade—because Newt truly _is_ the glue that holds Thomas together. It’s always been that way, and it always will be. 

The covers rustle softly as Newt pulls them all the way up to their chests, enclosing them both in a completely safe and comfortable warmth. 

Then Newt holds his hand up. Thomas accepts the silent request by raising his own hand and pressing their palms together just like they used to do as kids. It’s like they’re both thinking of the same memory, the same exact thing. That is usually the case when it comes to them.

“Listen,” Newt continues, intertwining their fingers. His hand is soft and so, _so_ warm. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you can tell me anything.”

Newt is always open with his care and affection, but especially when he’s on the verge of sleep. Thomas has to bite his lip to keep himself from smiling too much. 

“And I _would_ , but that’s the thing—I don’t know what’s going on either. I think I’m just stressed out, though, so don’t worry.”

“Well, let me know when you figure it out, yeah?” Newt murmurs, and then his eyes flutter shut. “We can solve it together, surely.”

“Yeah,” Thomas breathes. “We always do.”

Newt hums in affirmation before softly whispering, “Goodnight, Tommy.”

“‘Night.”

Thomas closes his eyes and doesn’t open them again until he feels Newt’s hand go lax in his own. He reluctantly draws his hand back to close his laptop, still sitting on the bed between their bodies and playing music from YouTube at a low volume. But he stops himself and watches as the autoplay feature works its magic by playing another clip. It’s a lyric video with a disco ball in the corner of the shot, spinning and changing color as text appears next to it. 

_“I want you to know,”_ the female artist sings in a slow, almost ethereal voice. “ _I’m a mirrorball—I can change everything about me to fit in.”_

It reminds Thomas of his thoughts earlier today. He has never been one for soft, dreamy music like this, but maybe his taste in music is starting to affect him a little, cause he finds himself growing attached to the song immediately. He saves it to his favorites and lies back down, letting it play. 

_“And when I break, it’s in a million pieces.”_

While watching the clip, he remembers the lamp sitting on his windowsill right next to him. 

Thomas turns around, fumbling with the cable until he finds the switch to turn it on. He presses the button, and in between a second and the next, his room is lit up in bright neon colors. 

The lamp is an electric mirrorball—creating blue, purple, and pink beams of light that spin around his room in a continuous pattern. Teresa got it for him last August on his seventeenth birthday. 

_Here, my little lion_ , she’d said while handing him the box. _Happy birthday._

They’ve never really been the kind of friends who exchange gifts regularly, and he remembers thinking that the disco light was a pretty random thing, so he asked her about it. 

_I saw it and thought of you_ , was her vague answer. _The colors are beautiful, aren’t they?_

They were, and his opinion still hasn’t changed. After his birthday, though, he didn’t think much more about the gift. He doesn’t turn it on very often—he finds it too bright when he’s trying to fall asleep and too distracting when he has to study. 

Newt, however, has always been the steadiest sleeper that Thomas has ever known, so he shouldn’t be bothered by the light. He does stir a little bit, though, and turns so that his back is to Thomas. 

Thomas finds himself wanting him to turn around again.

_“I’m still trying everything to keep you looking at me.”_

He stares at Newt’s back as a whirlwind of questions flows through his mind. How lucky is Thomas to have a best friend like him? One who comes over with his favorite candy and a great attitude to cheer him up? What has Thomas ever done to deserve him? 

Thomas has to make an effort while trying to tear his eyes off of Newt, much like before, when he was staring at the moon. He shifts to look at the colors, painting everything in hues of blue, purple, and pink.

And then he involuntarily turns his attention to Newt again. His shoulder blades. The rise and fall of them as he breathes. Thomas wants to reach out and touch, feel the warmth of Newt’s skin through his palm. The realization makes him uneasy, and a blush quickly develops on his cheeks.

And...

_“Shining just for you.”_

And—

Newt. The mirrorball. Its three colors.

Oh, no. 

_Holy fucking shit._


	2. don't want no other shade of blue but you

Thomas wakes up in Newt’s arms. 

It's not a rare occurrence—they’ve been doing this since they were kids because their slight height difference has always made it convenient for Thomas to curl up in his friend’s embrace. 

But it feels undeniably different this time. 

Thomas’ heart starts beating at what feels like an unhealthy pace when the realization from last night comes back to him. So fast that he thinks it might wake Newt up, but the alarm does the job before that happens, thankfully.

Newt groans at the blaring sound and blindly reaches for Thomas’ phone—apparently he knows exactly where it’s located—behind them, charging on the windowsill, as usual. The fact that Newt is so familiar with Thomas’ morning routine lights him up from the inside, but then squashes his mood down again, because this will never be anything but platonic. Obviously. They’ve been friends since the beginning of time—if Newt’s feelings for him had ever left the friend zone, he would’ve told Thomas. He’s always been the most honest and straight-forward person Thomas has known. He’s never been afraid to voice his opinions or feelings.

Therefore, Thomas is screwed. 

“Shit,” Newt groans when the alarm finally stops going off. His voice is deeper than usual and thick with sleep. 

Much to Thomas’ dismay, it sends shivers down his spine. “Good morning to you, too.”

“It’s not a good morning when I’m runnin’ on less than five hours of sleep,” Newt mutters and sits up, putting some distance between them. Thomas misses his warmth immediately.

Thomas is about to reply, but then Newt starts to take off his hoodie, and Thomas watches, frozen, helpless, as Newt’s shirt underneath it gets stuck and reveals the pale skin of his chest before the shirt drops down again. 

“Can I borrow a shirt?” Newt asks after trying to stifle a yawn. “I slept in my hoodie like a bloody moron.”

“Yeah, um. Sure,” Thomas stutters, feeling and blushing like an absolute idiot. On top of that, he almost trips over his own feet when he makes a beeline across the room to his closet. 

Thankfully, Thomas manages to collect himself before his friend notices that something strange is going on. He tosses Newt one of his signature blue t-shirts. “This one okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks, mate. D’you mind if I shower first?”

 _Mate_. Why does hearing that word suddenly feel like someone has put a spear right through Thomas’ heart? “Nah, go ahead.”

When they’re both showered and dressed, they brush their teeth in the bathroom together—like always. Newt uses his spare toothbrush. Thomas makes ugly faces at him in the mirror until he eventually laughs and the look of exhaustion fades from his expression.

Mission accomplished. 

A couple of hours later, Thomas and Minho sit by their table alone in the cafeteria. Newt and Teresa are off somewhere else, probably skipping lunch to work on some art project of theirs. 

“Thomas, my man!” Minho exclaims, “what’s with the gloomy vibes today?”

“Um,” Thomas starts with a mouth full of overcooked spaghetti, “we didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Oh, word?” Minho smirks, making Thomas frown at the strange phrasing. “ _We_ , huh? Who were you with?”

“Newt,” Thomas replies and casts his hand out in a gesture that says, _duh._ “Who else?”

“ _Dude_ ,” Minho says faintly. His eyes are wide for reasons unknown. “Wait. Are you telling me that something _happened_ between you two?”

“What are you talking about?” 

“You and Newt,” Minho answers. “ _Please_ tell me something happened.”

Thomas has no idea what his friend is talking about. “No, nothing in particular? Why would—?”

“Okay, listen,” Minho says, lowering his voice and leaning in closer to Thomas, looking around like he’s paranoid about eavesdroppers in the crowded cafeteria. “Here’s the deal, bro. Brenda and I have this bet going on—”

“ _What?!”_

“And there’s _a lot_ of money on the line, okay, so I really need you to kiss Newt before the end of the month.” 

The loud chatter around them almost prevents Thomas from hearing what his friend just said. Almost. He can only hope that he heard wrong, but a sinking feeling in his gut says that he didn’t.

“Minho, what the fuck,” Thomas says calmly, hoping this is just one of his friend’s pranks.

It’s not. Thomas has never seen Minho this serious. “I’m broke as shit right now and I wanna be able to buy Teresa dinner at a fancy place before prom!”

“I— _what?_ You haven’t even asked her to go with you yet!” Thomas whisper-shouts, albeit a bit aggressively. 

“I know, but only because I can’t guarantee her a nice time!” Minho retorts, equally as frustrated. “My financial situation is fucked, and it’s all depending on you and Newt. Please, man. Man up and confess your crush so I can do the same.”

The world comes crashing down on Thomas as his friend’s words register in his mind. Minho is talking about this as if Thomas and Newt together as an item is something inevitable, something he’s been waiting for to happen. Something he _knew_ would happen. So Minho obviously knows, but Thomas hadn’t realized his feelings for his best friend until _last night_ , which makes him feel insanely stupid. 

At that moment, Teresa appears out of thin air and sits down next to Thomas. “Hi, guys. What are we talking about?” She asks casually before biting into an apple, looking at them both expectantly.

“Nothing!” Minho squeaks.

Thomas would’ve laughed if it weren’t for his sheer terror. Panicking, he turns to Teresa, ignoring her question. “Can I come over after school?”

“Sure, Tom,” she says in a soft voice. “But you have practice today, right?”

“Yeah, we do,” Minho cuts in. “Coach Janson is gonna kill you if you don’t show up.”

“I don’t care,” Thomas snaps, and finds that it’s actually true—he doesn't care. For once. He quickly gets to his feet and picks up his lunch tray. “I’ll see you after fifth period, Teresa.”

“Why do you and Minho know more about myself than I do?” Thomas asks desperately as he and Teresa enter her room.

Teresa gives him a confused look before turning around to close the door. “Because we’re your friends, Tom, and you can be pretty clueless sometimes. Also, please calm down.”

“Sorry,” Thomas mumbles and sits down on Teresa’s queen-sized bed, replaying how frantic and panicked he must’ve seemed during the car ride here.

“It’s okay.” Teresa joins him on the bed, laying down next to him, resting her head in her hands. “But what’s going on with you today?” As Thomas desperately tries to come up with a way to explain himself, he notices that Teresa’s nails are painted pale blue today—they match her eyes perfectly.

An idea comes to mind at the sight of them.

“I’ll tell you later. I like your nails, by the way,” Thomas confesses, trying to make the comment sound nonchalant but failing miserably. There’s no use in trying, anyway, because Teresa can always tell when something is off.

“Thanks,” she says, lighting up with a bright smile. “I’m not very good at painting them, but they still look cool.” 

“They look great, T.” Then, after a heart-stopping moment of hesitation, Thomas adds, “can you do mine?” 

Teresa looks up from her hands, studying Thomas with those intense, stormy eyes of hers which have always had the ability to see right through him. Then her gaze softens. “Of course, Tom.”

Thomas can’t stop the relieved smile slowly forming on his face. “Yeah?”

“Absolutely,” Teresa says while getting up to grab a plastic box on her desk, filled to the brim with small, colorful bottles of polish. “Pick one.”

Thomas stares down into the container. Predictably, there are a lot of blue shades in it. It has always been their shared favorite color, it has always felt so undeniably _them_. But there are a lot of other options, too. 

“How am I supposed to choose?” Thomas almost laughs out loud at the question because it’s the same one he’s been subconsciously asking himself for _years_ and never found an answer to.

“I don’t know,” Teresa shrugs and sits down on the bed again, this time cross-legged. “What are you feeling right now? Like, if your current mood were a color, which one would it be?”

Fuck, she is actually making this easier for him. Not easy, but _easier_. “Just one?”

“I mean, no, you can pick a few,” Teresa says. “But don’t expect me to do some fancy artistic shit, that’s way too complicated for me. Besides, you’re not exactly giving me a lot to work with.”

Thomas laughs and looks down at his own nails, which are short and damaged from years of anxiously biting them. “You’re right.” 

With a shaky hand, he reaches out to take a tiny dark blue bottle from the box and gives it to Teresa. “This one.”

“Feeling blue, Tom?” Teresa asks, smirking.

“Yeah, I guess,” Thomas admits and takes a deep breath, bracing himself for what he’s about to do. “But also...”

He grabs two other bottles—a purple and a pink one—and quickly presses them into Teresa’s palm, avoiding eye contact. “These.”

“Oh,” Teresa breathes, staring down at the three bottles in her hand. “Okay.” 

There’s no way the message passes her by—Teresa is very smart. Besides, she gave him the disco lamp, and that could _not_ have been a coincidence. 

So, she probably knows already. But that doesn’t stop Thomas’ heart from beating so fast that it feels like it’s going to go flying right out of his chest any second now. 

“Give me your hand,” Teresa urges, and Thomas does as he’s told. She squeezes it briefly before placing it on her knee. Then she grabs the blue bottle of polish and starts to coat Thomas’ thumbnail with it as a strong smell of chemicals quickly fills the room. 

Teresa works in silence for a while, eventually moving on to turn the nail on his ring finger a deep, navy blue. Thomas startles as he realizes that she can probably feel his wild pulse through his fingertips.

“Tom...” Teresa looks up at him for a brief moment before looking down again, and Thomas instantly knows what’s coming. “Is there something you would like to talk about?”

Thomas sighs heavily. He was hoping this part could be avoided, that she’d just look at the colors and understand immediately so that they never have to talk about this. And Teresa understands, yes, but apparently, she needs Thomas to confirm the message with _words_. Ugh.

“I think you know already,” Thomas mumbles, staring down at their hands, feeling his cheeks and ears grow hot.

“I might,” Teresa says, leaning down to blow on the wet polish. “You know you can tell me anything, though, right?”

“Yeah, but...” Thomas trails off, desperately searching for the right words. “Do I really have to say it out loud?”

“You don’t _have_ to do anything, sweetheart,” Teresa murmurs in the softest, most reassuring tone Thomas has ever heard from her. “But I think it would be nice to get this off of your chest.”

“Fine.” She’s right, as always. “Uh, I’m—” Thomas’ voice breaks. He knows that his best friend will accept him and love him no matter what, so why is it still so hard to say it out loud? 

Teresa seems to notice his inner struggle and lays her hand on top of Thomas’ while still carefully avoiding the nail polish, silently urging him to continue. 

“I’m bi,” Thomas finally manages to utter, and immediately it’s like the weight of the whole world has been lifted off of his shoulders. He has watched a lot of coming out videos, and that is one of the many things the stories always have in common—everyone says that exact phrase. But he understands why, because it really does feel like that. He freely can breathe now, without something there constantly in the back of his mind, weighing him down.

Teresa’s whole expression lights up with the biggest, most genuine grin Thomas has ever seen, and suddenly it’s a little too much. He has to look away. 

“Thank you for telling me,” she says, and Thomas can hear the smile in her voice. “That was really brave, Tom. I’m so proud of you.”

He doesn’t know what to think of her words, or how to respond. It’s like he’s being praised for doing less than the bare minimum. He doesn’t deserve it. 

He makes a decision, then. Because he’s already come this far, so he might as well go all the way and kill two birds with one stone. Even though she probably knows already.

“And I think I’m in love with Newt,” Thomas says, and all the air is knocked out of his lungs at the confession. Things will change forever after this moment, he’s sure of it. And Thomas doesn’t want change—he has a great life and amazing relationships with all his friends. Even though he knows Teresa won’t tell anyone his secrets, he can’t stop the anxiety currently surging through him. 

Teresa drops the purple bottle of nail polish that she just picked up. It falls on top of the other ones, making a startling noise as glass clinks against glass.

“Oh,” she says breathlessly for the second time today. She gives him a look that tells him that she’s surprised that he finally figured it out—which makes him feel even more stupid. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Thomas’ voice breaks again, and he hates himself a little. “I’m so fucking scared, T.”

“You don’t have to be,” Teresa finally says after studying him quietly for a while. “You never know what could happen.”

Thomas squeezes his eyes shut. He knew she would say that, he just knew. But it’s a useless thing to say because the three of them have always been best friends. It’s always been them against the world. And Newt has never shown any signs of interest beyond friendship toward Thomas—there’s just no way he feels the same. “Don’t even go there. Please.” _Don’t get my hopes up_.

“Okay, sorry, I won’t. But everything is going to be fine, no matter what. I’m always here for you.”

Thomas doesn’t know how that could be possible, but something about the way Teresa says it makes him believe it. He nods, meeting her eyes and tries to pour all the love that he feels for her into the gaze. “Thank you. I love you, T.”

“I love you too.” Teresa shoots him a wistful smile before getting back to work—coating a nail in shiny, purple lacquer. 

The mirrorball pops up in Thomas’ mind again. “How long have you known?”

“I didn’t _know_ , Tom. I just had... an inkling.”

“And you didn’t wanna share it with me?”

“If I told you, you would’ve just shrugged it off and repressed it even more. I know you.”

Teresa is right, _again._ It’s genuinely annoying how well she knows Thomas sometimes. But it’s awesome to have a platonic soulmate—he wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

“So...” Teresa starts in a playful tone, “How did _you_ figure it out?”

“Well,” Thomas starts tentatively, “You know when he came over last night?”

Teresa nods, looking up at him for a moment before shifting her attention to his nails once more.

“He brought all my favorite snacks and said that we were gonna have a sleepover, you know, like old times. And we watched shitty movies all night and he made snarky comments that made me laugh ‘til my stomach hurt.”

Thomas pauses and takes a second to reflect on what he sounds like. Much to his dismay, he pretty much sounds _head over heels_. Or _fucking whipped_ , as Minho would say. 

“And I just... I just realized how _good_ of a person he is, you know? He’s literally _the best_. That’s the only thing I could think about after he’d fallen asleep.”

“Aww,” Teresa coos and closes the nail polish bottle and puts it back in the box, looking up at Thomas with another proud smile. 

“Then I turned on your stupid mirrorball,” Thomas adds. “Which, thanks for the hint, by the way.”

“I had to help you a _little bit_ ,” Teresa smirks. “Continue.”

“Yeah, so then it just hit me. It’s always been there in the back of my mind, I guess, but... I couldn’t push it away anymore, suddenly.” 

“That you’re bi or in love with him?”

“Both! I’m so fucked.”

Teresa shushes him. “Don’t think like that. You’re an amazing person and anyone would be lucky to have you. And I’m pretty sure he feels the same, because I know that he loves you.”

Thomas sighs. “Yeah, maybe, but not in _that_ way.”

“You never know,” Teresa says. Then, “Anyway, I’m done! Check out your manicure.”

Thomas looks down at his hands, still resting on top of Teresa’s knees. All of his nails are skillfully painted either blue, purple, or pink. 

He rests his head in his hands. “How do I look?” 

“Like the coolest bisexual on the planet,” Teresa says with nothing but sincerity in her voice.


	3. purple bursts of paper birds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> genuinely don't know if this is good or not but. enjoy

Thomas decides to leave the nail polish on.

Mostly because scrubbing it with soap doesn’t make it come off, and his mom tells him that she’s out of remover. 

Whatever. It’s not a big deal, nor will it be a big deal to anyone Thomas knows. (Well, maybe except for his little brother Chuck, who laughed at him when he saw his nails. But he’s only eleven years old, so he can’t be held accountable for anything, honestly.)

Besides, if anyone recognizes the colors and asks about them, Thomas’ll just tell them that he doesn’t know what they’re talking about. It’ll work, Teresa did say that he can be ‘pretty clueless sometimes’, so. It’s probably a believable excuse. Plus, how many people know what the bisexual flag looks like?

He’s overthinking it, he knows that. So much so that he completely forgets to keep track of time and therefore arrives about five minutes late for his first class. 

“Sorry for being late, Mrs. Paige,” he says when he enters the classroom, breathing heavily from sprinting all the way from the parking lot. 

His teacher nods at him—a subtle way of telling him to shut up and take a seat. So that’s exactly what he does. 

Mrs. Paige resumes her monotonous rant about algebra, and he feels his spirits lift. Thomas likes math. He _understands_ math. Nothing in math class can mess him up.

“All right, Tommy?”

Well, okay. So maybe one thing can. “Morning, buddy.”

 _Buddy?_ He wants to facepalm himself so hard that he knocks himself unconscious. 

Newt, oblivious to his inner chaos, grins at Thomas while he opens his textbook and does a double-take when he sees his hands. “Did you—did you paint your nails?”

“Yeah,” Thomas shrugs, trying to sound casual. “Well, sort of. Teresa did.”

“Any particular reason why you chose those colors?”

“Uh...” Thomas wants to tell him. _God,_ he wants to tell him so bad. But they’re in _class_ and Newt is looking at him with a perplexing intensity that makes him deflate and lose his courage. So instead of being honest, he flashes him an exaggerated smile and bats his eyelashes. “No, Teresa picked them. How do I look?”

Something flickers in Newt’s eyes, something that he can’t quite distinguish. But it disappears so quickly that he thinks he might’ve imagined it—and is replaced by his usual playful grin. “Like an absolute nutter.”

The laugh that Newt earns with the snarky comment is a little bit too loud in the quiet classroom. Mrs. Paige glares at them both, so they shut up instantly. They don’t need more detention for talking too much in class.

Wednesday eventually turns into Thursday, and Thomas’ embarrassing and not-so-platonic feelings for his best friend don’t magically vanish like he was hoping. Quite the opposite, actually. When Newt sits down next to him at lunch and their thighs and shoulders brush against each other, the touch sends a burning surge of warmth through his whole body. 

Fucking shit.

“Guys,” Brenda is sitting opposite of him, and she has a familiar, mischievous glint in her eyes. It shimmers like the moon on a stormy dark sea, and Thomas knows what’s about to happen before she continues. “My dad is going out of town on Friday. Again.” 

There it is. Every single one of his friends lights up at the promise of freedom, booze, and a big party. Hashtag high school things.

“Fuck yeah!” Minho drops his fork on the lunch table to give his friends high-fives. “Bren, I _adore_ your dad. Give Jorge all my love. Anyway, round two, people. _Round two_! Thomas, you have to come with us this time.” 

“Yeah, Min. For sure,” he says. Thomas is actually kind of excited to go this time. It might have something to do with the fact that he’s finally figured out what was bringing him down earlier. Even though nothing will ever come of it, of course. 

“Well, then,” Minho replies before turning to Brenda again. “Shall we?”

“We shall,” Brenda declares with finality before taking Minho’s hand, pulling them both up into a standing position on top of their chairs. Fry, who’s sitting next to them, cleverly covers his ears. Unfortunately, Minho opens his mouth before Thomas can follow Fry’s lead. 

“Great news, everyone. Party at Brenda’s tomorrow!” Minho shouts, and the buzz in the cafeteria comes to a stop immediately as everyone gives them their attention. 

Thomas has to stifle a laugh when he looks to his left to see Teresa’s and Newt’s synced eye rolls. Minho plus Brenda has always added up to pure chaos, and according to Teresa and her astrology apps, it is because they are both ‘messy sags’. But Thomas is pretty sure that it’s just because they bring out the best in each other. Or the worst, depending on one's tolerance for annoyance. 

Thomas meets Newt’s eyes and shakes his head as if to say _remind me, why do we love these people?_ Newt seems to get it because he shrugs at the silent question. Thomas’ heart does a little flip like it always does when they’re able to communicate through glances only.

“Be there, bitches!” Brenda adds, holding her hands like a megaphone around her mouth. Then they do their usual announcement bow before sitting back down, and the whole cafeteria cheers.

Thomas hides his silent laughter by pressing his forehead to Newt’s shoulder.

On Friday, Newt picks him up at eight PM sharp.

Thomas tries not to stare too much as Newt drives them to Brenda’s house, but he makes it kind of impossible. He’s in his favorite jacket—the brown one with the fluffy collar—and he looks _good_. His hair’s getting long, he resembles a goddamn _movie star_ as gusts of wind blow in through the open driver’s seat window, turning his blond locks into a ruffled yet beautiful mess. Thomas wants to run his hands through it.

There’s alleviation, Thomas thinks, in finally letting himself yearn. If this were just a few days ago, he would’ve just repressed the observation and made himself focus on something else. The sunset in front of them, maybe. The street. The endless rows of suburban houses that they pass. 

But now, his only focus is Newt and the bittersweet ache in his heart that comes with seeing him. And he’s surprisingly okay with that, even though his friend doesn’t feel the same. 

Brenda’s street is already packed with cars, and the front lawn is full of people from school. There’s an intoxicating sense of excitement in the air that doesn’t just come from the red solo cups that _everyone_ seems to have in their hands—it also comes from the humid air that holds that promise of spring and the uncertain future after graduation. 

Several people greet them as they arrive: enthusiastic high fives and hugs are handed out from Frypan, Harriet, Winston, even Gally. If Gally is in a good mood, then that’s definitely saying something. 

“I think Brenda’s having a bloody crisis,” Newt whispers when they’re out of earshot to their friends, putting an arm around Thomas’ shoulders. 

Thomas tries to tell his body to _not_ start blushing—but to no avail. So he gives in to it instead, wrapping his own arm around Newt’s waist, pulling them closer. “Why’s that?”

“She invited the entire school this time. I reckon she’s quite scared of saying goodbye to all these people,” Newt replies, and he makes a good point. 

“I get that. Aren’t you?”

“Not really, no,” Newt shrugs, “I can see why you lot would feel that way, but I’m glad high school’s ending. It’s not like I’m going to let the people that really matter to me disappear from my life just because they’re going away to uni— _college,_ whatever.” 

Thomas laughs because _of course,_ Newt would say something like that. The statement is so undeniably _him_ , so tenacious and causal at the same time. And then, because he’s stupid and impulsive, he opens his mouth to say, “so you’re not letting me go, then?”

“Never, Tommy,” Newt says they make their way up the path towards the door. 

Thomas has no time to stutter out a response, however, because a voice from above interrupts them. 

“Welcome, everybody,” Brenda exclaims, standing on the balcony overlooking the front lawn, “to what is definitely gonna become the greatest party of all time. We have no rules here tonight. What we _do_ have, though, is alcohol. It’s in the kitchen. Help yourselves, and have fun!”

“Well, then,” Newt says through a quiet chuckle, reaching out to open the front door, “after you.”

Predictably, it’s pure chaos inside. Brenda’s multi-colored strobe lights are in full force, creating a dizzying atmosphere. The roaring pop music is a little bit too loud for this early time of day, but Brenda has never been one to do something halfway. Unfortunately, the first person they run into is Jack, one of Thomas’ teammates from track, who, according to Newt, is ‘an arrogant prick’. Thomas is someone who likes to give people the benefit of the doubt, but he actually agrees with Newt’s statement. The problem with Jack is that he always acts like he’s superior to everyone. Also, he has always had a bone to pick with Newt, for reasons Thomas can’t seem to figure out. 

Tonight is no exception, apparently. “Hey! What’s up, Thomas?” Jack whoops loudly, almost spilling the contents of his plastic cup as he makes his way over to the doorway to greet them. Thomas notices that he has a neon blue stain on his white t-shirt, presumably from a jelly shot gone wrong. Jesus, it’s barely past eight.

Thomas waves at him, and then Jack seemingly spots Newt, and his expression turns sour. “Newt. Hi, man.”

“You might want to slow down there, mate,” Newt snickers, voicing Thomas’ thoughts and gestures to Jack’s disheveled appearance. “It’s only eight o’clock, you know.”

Jack looks like he’s holding back a literal growl, and Thomas wants to laugh in his face but decides against it. The guy’s got anger issues. 

“No offense, but you look like you need something to drink, dude,” Jack says to Newt with a smile on his face that Thomas can only describe as evil. “There’s booze in the kitchen, I’m sure you can help yourself.”

“Nah,” Newt says casually, “I don’t wanna end up like you, do I? Besides, I offered to be the designated driver tonight.”

“ _Willingly?_ Why the hell would you do that?” If this is Jack’s version of smalltalk, Thomas is not impressed. 

Newt rolls his eyes, looking ready to leave. Thomas is too. Quite frankly, Jack’s unreasonable hatred towards his best friend is, to put it bluntly, really fucking annoying and uncalled for. So Thomas throws an arm around Newt’s shoulder and presses a quick kiss to his cheek. “Because he’s the best, _duh_. See you later, Jack.”

They laugh at Jack’s dumbfounded expression all the way to the kitchen.

Thomas is three drinks in when Teresa finally arrives. She finds him sitting by the kitchen island, refilling his cup, spilling some Smirnoff as he does so. 

One of the speakers is right next to them, playing a shitty top 40 song, so Teresa has to raise her voice to be heard. “Tom! What are you doing here by yourself? Let’s join the party!” She says and gestures to Minho, Brenda, and Newt who are sitting on the couch on the other side of the room, playing a round of Smash by the TV. At that moment, something makes Newt throw his head back, laughing with beautiful ecstasy written all over his expression. Thomas groans miserably at the sight, letting his head fall down onto the marble counter, which is sticky with soda. Gross.

“Hey, Teresa,” he mumbles into the flat surface, not sure if he’s being drowned out by the booming music or not. “No, I’m too busy drowning my troubles in vodka. Check in with me later and see if I’m still conscious.” 

“Ah. I’m gonna check in with you _now_ , I think,” Teresa says, taking a seat next to him on the fancy diner-like stools that Brenda has in her kitchen. “Speaking of troubles, how’s Newt?”

“Unaware of my feelings, I hope,” Thomas mutters. 

Teresa sighs, much like Thomas’ mother does when she’s disappointed in him. “Are you gonna tell him that you’re bi, at least? Maybe that’ll open some doors for you.” 

Thomas raises his head again to look her in the eye and hopefully make her understand how ridiculous she sounds. “What _doors_ , T? You think he’ll kiss me and say that he’s wanted me for years?”

Teresa has the audacity to laugh. “Actually—

“Nevermind, don’t answer that. No, I don’t think I’m ready.”

“Why not?”

“Because if I come out to him, he’ll ask me how I finally realized it.”

“And?”

“And I won’t be able to lie to him,” Thomas admits. “He’ll see right through me, as always.”

“No, it won’t be a big deal!” Teresa protests, almost yelling over the loud music now. “Remember when he came out to us?”

“That’s different, though,” Thomas whisper-shouts, worried someone might hear. “We were thirteen, and it’s not like it was news to us.”

They were in seventh grade, and Newt had just casually slipped it into the conversation like it was no big deal to him at all. ‘I’m gay’, he’d said, and that was that. Case closed. He was calm under pressure in a way that Thomas has never been, and will never achieve.

“Just do it, Tom,” Teresa says, throwing her hands up in the air in an act of desperation. “It’ll be _fine_!”

“Easy for you to say, you’re not in love with your best friend!”

 _“Yes_ , I am!” Thomas physically recoils at her response. _Wait, what?_ “Not you, idiot,” Teresa elaborates, and Thomas finally gets it, despite the drunken haze he has found himself in. " _Minho_!”

“Oh, right,” Thomas sighs and then proceeds to down his fourth drink in one sitting. “I guess we’re both pathetic, then.” 

“Guess so,” Teresa mumbles, mirroring Thomas’ deflated expression as they both turn their attention back to the couch where Minho and Newt are still frantically trying to beat each other at Smash.

“Tell you what,” Teresa says after a while, “how about we _both_ come clean to them tonight? I mean, think about it, what have we got to lose? We’re graduating soon. Let’s go out with a bang! I’m in if you are.”

Thomas’ heart rate picks up as he finds himself actually considering it. Oh, fuck. This is why he should never, _ever_ be allowed to consume alcohol. Well, technically he isn’t, but he’s almost eighteen and US laws are stupid.

“I think he’s going up to the balcony,” Teresa suddenly shouts, pointing a finger to the staircase leading up to the second floor of the house. She’s right, Newt is making his way upstairs. The balcony is connected to Brenda’s bedroom, and Newt is the only person she trusts well enough to go up there to smoke. “Go after him, Tom! Now’s your chance.”

“Fuck it,” Thomas announces and gets to his feet before taking Teresa’s drink from her hand and devouring that, too. His sober self might’ve been fine with keeping Newt in the dark, but his drunk self is sick and tired of aching whenever he sees Newt smile. Or laugh. Or _exist._ But most of all, he’s sick of keeping a secret from him. He’s supposed to be able to talk to his best friend about this kind of stuff—it’s not his fault that said best friend is also the person he is in love with. “You know what? I’m gonna do it.”

“All right there, Tommy?” Newt asks as Thomas gracefully stumbles out onto the balcony. He has a lit cigarette hanging from his mouth, and even though smoking isn’t very attractive, Newt makes it so. 

Maybe he’s had a little bit too much to drink, Thomas realizes as the ground seems to physically shift under him. Newt’s cigarette goes flying as he rushes forward to steady him. He catches hold of his bare forearms and holds him steadily, and Thomas shivers. Not just because of how chilly the night air has become.

Newt stares at him as an amused grin forms on his lips. “Definitely not all right, then. How many drinks have you had?”

Whatever, Thomas is going to do this, drunk or not. He has a plan, and it’s going to work, _damn it_. “Remember our first real conversation?” He asks, dismissing Newt’s question.

Newt hesitates, and something changes in his expression. There’s something undoubtedly nostalgic about his soft smile as he says, “‘course I do.”

“Tell me about it,” Thomas demands, cringing at how slurred his words sound.

“Bloody hell, Tommy, how did you manage to get this hammered already?” Newt laughs. “Are you sure you’re good? D’you need a sip of water? A bucket?”

“Shut up,” Thomas says and playfully punches Newt’s shoulder. “Just tell me about it.”

“Alright,” Newt gives in and starts telling the story that they’re both so fond of. “Well, it happened when we were in first grade, as you know. It was bloody freezing outside, and you looked gutted because you’d somehow managed to lose your gloves,” he continues. Then, to Thomas’ surprise, he takes both of his hands in his, enclosing them in the warmth of his own. 

Hypnotized, Thomas watches as Newt brings their joined hands up to his mouth and breathes hot air on them. He may as well have done it to his whole body, because suddenly, Thomas feels like he’s burning up.

“And then you gave me one of yours,” Thomas whispers breathlessly. It’s so quiet out here, the only sounds are their own faint breathing and the muffled thump of the bass coming from inside. It’s peaceful, and Thomas can’t think of a better time to do this—to finally confess. 

“Are you telling this story, or am I?” Newt asks, smirking. 

“Sorry,” Thomas blurts out, “continue.”

“ _And then_ I gave you one of mine, and I stayed outside with you until your mum came to pick you up,” Newt mumbles, lips brushing Thomas’ cold hands as he speaks. 

It’s now or never—now’s his chance. “Because you’re the best,” Thomas murmurs, daring to lean in closer.

Newt, untouchable as always, barely reacts. “I don’t know about that.” 

“You _are_ , though,” Thomas protests. His heart beats at a frantic pace as he leans even closer, so close that their foreheads eventually touch. Even though he’s drunk right now and his emotions are somewhat toned down, he has never been this scared before. “You’re the best thing in my life, Newt,” he continues to whisper, and then lets his eyes flicker from Newt’s eyes down to his mouth. He closes them to gather the last bit of courage to finish what he’s trying to say. “I want you to know that. I wanna show you. Can I?”

Thomas holds his breath as he waits for an answer. Behind his closed eyelids, a vivid fantasy starts playing out. A fantasy where Newt nods and closes the distance between them, cupping his cheeks, and holding him in place as he kisses him fiercely. Desperately, even, like it’s the end of the whole world. 

But when a reply doesn’t come, Thomas opens his eyes to find that Newt’s expression is a disarray of different emotions. His brows are furrowed, and despite the blurriness of their close proximity, Thomas can clearly see that it looks like he’s in excruciating pain. “Tommy... I just don’t want you to do something you might find yourself regretting in the morning,” he whispers, equally as quiet, and Thomas’ heart promptly breaks into a million pieces.

After managing to stumble down the stairs without incident, Thomas almost crashes into Jack at the bottom of them.

“Woah,” Jack says, “you okay, Thomas?”

Jack seems to have sobered up since they last saw each other, or maybe he just gained some sense of control of his douchebaggery. “I’m fine,” Thomas mutters. “I think I need a refill, though.” He definitely doesn’t, but if he gets drunk enough, maybe he’ll be able to forget what just happened. Why had he allowed himself to be so stupid? He wants to blame Teresa for encouraging him to act on his dumb feelings, but that wouldn’t be fair to her—she just wants what’s best for him. It’s not her fault it didn’t work out.

“Here,” Jack says, giving Thomas his red cup. “You can have mine.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles and goes to take a sip, but freezes when he spots Newt coming down the stairs. He then grabs Jack’s arm and pulls them into the hidden shadows of a hallway to their left. 

“Woah,” Jack says again, and Thomas barely resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Looks like someone wants me alone, huh?”

Jack must be extremely proud of that line because he’s grinning like someone who has just won the lottery. Thomas—who’s feeling reckless due to the alcohol in his blood and the ache in his heart—just shrugs. He has nothing to lose anymore. “Maybe. Is that okay with you?”

“Very,” Jack replies and then winks. “I like your nail polish, by the way.” 

Thomas looks down at his hand, clutching the cup with his colorful nails on display for Jack to see. In his drunken state, he’d completely forgotten about them. It’s a lot like wearing his heart on his sleeve. 

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh. My sister has those colors on a pin on her jacket,” Jack explains. “So I know what they mean. Do you?”

Thomas could play oblivious, run to find Newt, ask him to forget everything that happened tonight, and request a ride home. 

He _could_ , but he finds himself wanting to do the complete opposite. 

“Yeah,” Thomas whispers. “I know what they mean.”

“Just try and relax,” Jack says, later, when they’re back in Brenda’s bedroom. This time Newt _isn’t_ the center of Thomas’ thoughts for once, and it feels good. It feels like freedom. Everything is blurry, but everything is fine. His worries are gone.

“How?” Thomas asks. 

“Like this,” Jack whispers before cupping his cheeks and pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his mouth. Thomas responds tentatively as Jack starts walking them backward until Thomas finds himself pinned up against the bedroom wall. It’s his first time kissing a guy, and it’s not an unexpected turn of events—Thomas knew that Jack would probably kiss him, he even _wanted_ him to, so why does it still feel so wrong? 

Jack kisses him with way too much enthusiasm and Thomas can barely keep up. Maybe Thomas was just confused and sad earlier. Maybe his newfound discovery was just a phase, maybe he’s not bi or in love with Newt after all. 

But then, something happens at the thought of his friend.

Suddenly, _Newt_ is the one kissing him. The one biting his bottom lip, the one cupping his cheeks. And it feels so real, like if Thomas were to open his eyes right now, Newt would be there instead—looking at him with dark eyes full of want. The vivid image of Newt in his head makes Thomas gasp into the kiss and he is finally able to catch up to the needy and desperate pace of it. Something in the back of his mind tells him that it’s weird and straight-up _wrong_ to pretend to be kissing another person—especially when the person in question is his best _friend_ —but Thomas’ reckless, drunken state of mind discards any sanity he has left. He wraps his arms around Jack’s—no, _Newt’s_ waist—pulling them impossibly closer to each other. Newt lets out a muffled sound of pleasure against Thomas’ mouth, and the vibrations of his deep moan sends a wave of arousal through Thomas. 

But then Jack starts _talking,_ and the unfamiliar sound of his voice shatters the drunken illusion. “You look so good tonight, Thomas. So fucking gorgeous,” Jack mumbles against his lips. “Wanna show me what that pretty mouth of yours can do?”

The praise does make Thomas feel warm inside, but only until Jack’s startling question registers in his mind. He then tries to put some distance between them, but Jack is still holding his face. “Uh, I don’t—”

“C’mon, I know you want to,” Jack says and takes Thomas’ hands away from his waist, guiding them to the waistline of Jack’s jeans instead. “‘Cause I’ve noticed something about you, and it’s that you’re always so goddamn eager to please people. Aren’t you?”

“No,” Thomas says, even though the words are true. Probably not in this context, though. Definitely not when it comes to _Jack_ , anyway.

Thomas tries to pull his hands away, but Jack has got a strong grip on them. “Aw, don’t be shy, baby. It’s only me and you here, and I’m not one to judge, I promise. I’m sure you’ll do a great job.” 

Jack _finally_ lets go of his hands, so Thomas puts them on his chest instead, trying to push him backward. Maybe Thomas is drunker than he first thought because Jack doesn’t budge. Instead, he starts to unbuckle the belt himself. 

“ _No_ ,” Thomas repeats. “Stop it, man.”

Jack does stop then, as if he only _just_ realized that Thomas is being serious. “What?”

“You heard me,” Thomas snaps, completely flabbergasted by this guy’s ignorance. “Let me go.” 

“What the fuck? You flirt with me and follow me upstairs just to leave me hanging?”

“Yeah. I changed my mind.” 

Jack has the audacity to look offended by that. “Why?”

“Because...” Thomas’ fuzzy, intoxicated mind is only able to form one single thing: the truth. “You’re not him.”

Jack looks like he’s been slapped in the face, which is a great look on him, in Thomas’ opinion. “What the fuck are you talking about? Who?”

As if on cue, the door to Brenda’s bedroom swings open, and Newt steps inside. He’s got an unlit cigarette in his mouth, and it nearly falls to the floor when he stares at the scene in front of him. 

“Tommy?” Newt says weakly. His gaze flickers between Thomas’ hands on Jack’s chest and the unbuckled belt. “What—?”

“We’re kind of in the middle of something here, dude,” Jack spits, and rage toward the guy surges through Thomas’ veins like hot lava. “Leave us alone, would you?”

Newt looks so confused, so caught off guard, which is an extremely rare thing. He shouldn’t ever look like that. 

“Uh, sure. Sorry,” Newt mumbles and turns around again. But before he can close the door, Thomas collects himself and finally manages to push Jack away. 

“Newt, wait!” Thomas runs down the stairs and nearly falls over several times before he can catch up to his friend. Newt is already out the front door. Thomas reaches him on the porch and grabs his arm, spinning him around. 

“Newt, I’m sorry,” Thomas blurts out, not sure what he’s apologizing for. For letting Newt see that, maybe. For not coming out to him earlier. For making Newt believe that he could ever want somebody else. 

“For _what_ , Tommy? What could you _possibly_ be apologizing for?” The questions are followed by a sharp, bitter laugh that makes Thomas feel sick to his stomach. “You’re allowed to shag whoever you like, I couldn’t care less.”

“I know, but...” _I only did it because you don’t want me_. “Still. I—I’m sorry,” Thomas repeats, desperately trying to make Newt read in between the lines and understand what he’s actually trying to say. The alcohol is making everything cloudy—his vision, his speech, his ability to form coherent sentences. It’s fucking frustrating, to put it bluntly. 

“Don’t be,” Newt says in an emotionless tone as he puts his jacket on. “Go on, run back upstairs and carry on with what you were doing. I’m going home.”

Thomas’ nausea is intensified by the harsh words. “What? Why?”

“I’m bloody exhausted, alright? You can probably hitch a ride with Jack or something. I’ll see you later.”

And then, before Thomas can react, Newt crosses the street and gets in his car before subsequently driving off, leaving Thomas alone on the porch.


	4. the blues and then purple-pink skies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think we're ALL mirrorballs

Thomas makes his way back inside the house and stumbles through the crowd of people in the hallway and living room. The music is a bit too loud now, the heavy thump of the bass makes his head hurt. 

He finds Teresa eventually. She’s in the kitchen, talking to Harriet and Brenda with a red cup in her hands. She looks up with a smile and does a double-take when she sees the look on his face. “Tom?”

Thomas walks up to his friends and leans against the counter, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. 

“Thomas, you okay? Do you want a glass of water?” Brenda asks with obvious concern in her voice. 

“I’m good, Bren,” he mumbles, not even sure if she can hear him over the music. “I just wanna go home.”

“Okay. Let’s get you home, then,” Teresa says, wrapping an arm around his waist to steady him. “Where’s Newt?” 

“He—” predictably, Thomas’ voice breaks. “He left.”

All three girls stare at him, dumbfounded by his statement.

“Without you? Why?” Harriet asks softly. 

“I don’t know,” Thomas admits, but then he thinks about how he’d almost kissed Newt earlier. _Don’t do something you might find yourself regretting in the morning._ “Because I fucked everything up, probably.”

“It’s okay, Tom. You’re okay.” Thomas doesn’t even notice the tears streaming down his face before Teresa wipes them away with her thumb. She places her plastic cup on the counter and leans in to say something to her friends. Thomas doesn’t hear it, and honestly, he doesn’t really care either. He just desperately wants to leave. 

“Come on, let’s go outside. I’ll get us an Uber,” Teresa says, grabbing Thomas’ hand. She can probably sense that he doesn’t want this conversation to continue in front of Harriet and Brenda. He loves them both, but he’s drunk and vulnerable and sad and he just wants to go home to numb the pain by falling asleep. “Bye, girls. I’ll text you.”

Brenda and Harriet say their goodbyes, affectionately patting Thomas on the back when he walks past. 

“What happened?” Teresa asks when they’re outside. 

They’re waiting for their Uber on the front porch steps, exactly where Newt left him earlier. It could’ve been twenty minutes ago or just mere seconds, Thomas couldn’t say. He got way too drunk tonight, and somewhere along the way, the concept of time lost all meaning.

Thomas tries to explain the situation with Jack, but he stutters and gets his words all mixed up until he’s a babbling mess. But Teresa, God bless her, seems to understand anyway, somehow. It must be all the years of putting up with his bullshit. 

He doesn’t tell her about what happened before Jack, though, because he’s ashamed of how close he’d gotten to fucking absolutely everything up. Thankfully, Newt had given him an out before he could kiss him. A golden opportunity, his way of telling him, _I know that you’re wasted right now, so I’m just gonna ignore what you just tried to do, and we can forget about it. Deal?_

“Oh my God,” Teresa exclaims when he’s done telling the story. “Jack is such a fucking jerk. I’m gonna kill him.” 

Thomas frowns, not sure why she’d bring that up first. Newt left, how could anything else be important to talk about? “That’s not—that’s not even the issue here.”

“What do you mean?” Teresa asks, meeting his gaze with eyes that resemble a raging blue hurricane. “Yes, it is, Thomas. He is a world-class asshole who doesn’t understand that there are people in this world who _don't_ want to suck his dick.” 

She always has a way of getting him to laugh. Even now, when everything feels like it’s going to shit. “Yeah, fuck him. But what hurt me more was how Newt just left like that, like... like I’d done something wrong.” 

“He probably feels hurt because of the way he found out,” Teresa admits. “You guys are best friends, maybe he’s confused about why you didn’t tell him sooner. But it’s not like it was your obligation to tell him, and he knows that, so he’ll get over it. I promise you.”

Thomas sniffles pathetically. “I hope you’re right.”

“When am I not? Come on, I think our ride’s here.”

  
  


Thomas wakes up to someone wildly shaking him. 

He opens his eyes to find that it’s Teresa—apparently, she’d stayed over. He has no recollection of agreeing to that, but admittedly, he doesn’t remember a whole lot from last night. 

Well, except Newt. And Jack. _Shit_.

“Tom, wake up,” Teresa says excitedly. She’s sitting cross-legged on his bed with an unidentifiable object in her hands, grinning down at it. Thomas has no idea how she can be so chipper right now. His head is throbbing, and his mouth feels like someone stuffed it with sandpaper while he slept. Ugh, why did she let him drink last night? “Check this out.”

“Huh?” Thomas croaks, disorientedly rubbing the sleep dust out of his eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Before you freak out... try to understand,” is Teresa’s creepily vague answer. 

Thomas panics a little bit. He doesn’t know what time it is, but it’s _probably_ too early for his friend’s sneaky bullshit. “Understand what?”

“Why I did it,” Teresa replies, thrusting her hand out to reveal what she is holding. It’s Thomas’ own phone, and the _Messages_ app is open. Well, fuck. This can’t be good. 

_newt can you come over [_ ** _Thomas_ ** _\- 1:06]_

 _please_ 🥺 _[_ ** _Thomas_ ** _\- 1:07]_

 _i need to talk to u [_ ** _Thomas_ ** _\- 1:07]_

 _[1:18 -_ **_Newt_** _] Sure I’ll be there in a bit_

 _[1:18 -_ **_Newt]_ **_I have something to tell you as well_

“Teresa, no!” Thomas squawks as he skims through the traitorous messages. “What have you done?”

“Oh, please,” Teresa says, rolling her eyes, “I only did what you’re too scared of doing yourself. This is good news, he’s coming over so you guys can sort your shit out. Thank me later.”

“I can’t believe you,” Thomas groans, secretly trying to fight off a smile underneath the covers. 

“Hey, you know that I only want what’s best for you, at the end of the day.” 

“Yeah, I know, but Newt is mad at me right now! I’ll prove it,” Thomas says and sits up to grab his phone. He types out a response and sends it. “Watch, he’s not gonna send me any emojis back. That’s how you know he’s pissed off.”

 _okay sounds good_ 😇❤️❤️ _[_ ** _Thomas_ ** _\- 1:24]_

Teresa raises a single eyebrow, seemingly unconvinced. Three dots pop up in the left corner of the screen, indicating that Newt is typing. Then— _ding!_

 _[1:26 -_ **_Newt_** _] Tommy you know how I feel about your dorky emoticons_

Thomas throws his hands up in triumph. “See?”

But then another notification comes through, and he deflates at the sight of it. 

_[1:27 -_ **_Newt_** _] ......_ ❤️

Teresa doesn’t even flinch. “You were saying?”

Later, when Thomas is alone and waiting, he can’t stop the fleeting thoughts of panic, despite knowing that Newt can never stay mad at _anyone_ for more than two hours, let alone his best friends. 

Thomas thinks about the almost-kiss again and wants to disappear from the face of the Earth. His worries don’t last very long, however, because when he spots Newt from his window, he is smiling like nothing’s ever happened. 

Thomas opens the window and crambles out on the ledge to meet him as he climbs the tree. “Hi,” he mumbles shyly, not really sure where they stand yet.

Newt steps down from the branch and onto the shelf in one swift motion and sits down next to Thomas, with both feet dangling in the air. He has his signature jacket on, even though he definitely doesn’t need to. The warm, sunny day generates a sense of hope in the air—hope that summer might actually be on its way after all this time. 

Newt scoots closer to Thomas on the ledge and knocks their shoulders together playfully. “Hey, Tommy. Not too hungover, I hope?”

“Ugh, you have no idea,” Thomas groans. He downed three glasses of water and brushed his teeth _twice_ after Teresa left to get rid of the gross taste in his mouth, but the headache is still there, reminding him that his careless, drunken actions have consequences. “Why did you even let me drink last night? We both know nothing good ever comes from that.”

“Just wanted you to have fun, I s'pose,” Newt shrugs. “And, to be honest, it looked like you were having a buggin’ blast at the end there.”

“Um, about that,” Thomas winces, “I just wanna say that I’m sorry for—”

“Hang on,” Newt cuts him off, raising one finger to shush him. “You have nothing to apologize for. I, on the other hand... Listen, I’m sorry for acting like a twat last night. I overreacted, and that wasn’t fair to you. Your identity is your business and I shouldn’t have been upset with you for not telling me. If you want to mess around with Jack, then... be my bloody guest. Maybe he’s an all right bloke, what do I know?” 

“Thanks, Newt. Apology accepted.” Thomas ducks his head, embarrassed by the fact that he ever thought it was a good idea to kiss Jack. “But, well, he’s still an asshole, so... don’t worry, I won’t be _shagging_ him anytime soon.”

“You’re not allowed to use that word, it sounds weird when you say it.”

“Fine,” Thomas laughs, allowing himself to relax now that he knows that everything is fine between them. “I know you said that I have nothing to apologize for, but I’m going to anyway. So... sorry for not telling you earlier, but I’m, uh. Bisexual.”

“Brilliant,” Newt says, expressionless. “Welcome to the community, Tommy.”

“I—? Is that all you have to say?” Thomas says through a delirious laugh, taken aback by dreading this moment for so long for it to have such a neutral conclusion. 

“Well, what do you _want_ me to say?”

“Actually...” Thomas’ heart starts to flutter uncontrollably as he prepares himself to (maybe) fuck everything up again. Because, well. Newt deserves to know the truth, and he’s not sure if he got the whole message across last night. “I want you to ask me when I figured it out.” 

“That you’re bi?”

“Yeah.”

Newt frowns. “I don’t _need_ to know, Tommy, that was my bloody point—it’s _your_ business.” 

“I know. But still, ask me. Please.”

“Alright, then. When did you figure it out?”

“Earlier this week. When—when you slept over,” Thomas whispers, and there it is; the first irrevocable step towards a terrifying freefall. Newt looks nothing but perplexed, so he continues. “Actually, I had _two_ realizations that night. I was gonna tell you about them at the party, but I chickened out when you warned me to not say something stupid. But, uh... I have stupidly strong feelings for you, Newt. I couldn’t make them go away even if I wanted to. I’m so sorry. I don’t want us to be weird about this, though, so hopefully we can go back to being best fr—”

The word _friends_ turns into a surprised gasp, muffled by Newt’s lips against his, which is probably a sweet metaphor for their situation or something. Because, well, it _would_ be fair to say that Thomas is ‘pretty clueless sometimes’, but he’s pretty damn sure of what’s happening right now—Newt is _kissing_ him. 

_Nobody pinch me_ , he thinks and sighs into the kiss, reciprocating the action with all his might. If this turns out to be an alcohol-induced chick flick type of dream, then he doesn’t want to wake up. Ever. 

The kiss is a chaste, innocent thing, and admittedly, it is a little awkward. They’ve known each other their whole lives, after all, and things have just taken a tumultuous turn. A turn for the better, yes, but it’s going to take them a while to get used to this, Thomas figures. 

Newt smiles into the kiss, then, making Thomas draw in a sharp breath because the butterflies in his stomach all just did soaring somersaults at once. Newt takes advantage of this and opens his mouth slightly, deepening the kiss.

Thomas hasn’t been on a rollercoaster since he was a kid, but he vaguely recalls it feeling a lot like this—like when the rollercoaster tips over and turns your gut into a knot of nerves and scares you half to death yet makes you want to cry out in exhilaration at the same time. Yeah, being kissed by Newt is like that. 

“Okay, so... wow,” Thomas says lamely when they separate, laughing in disbelief. “That—that just happened?”

“It did, yeah,” Newt says, amused. “Was this really what you were trying to tell me last night?”

“Yes!” Thomas laughs and wraps his arms around Newt’s shoulders, pulling him closer, because he can do that now. The realization is wonderfully dizzying.

“Shit. Sorry for stopping you, Tommy, but I just figured you had gone mad from all those bloody drinks you had in your system.”

“Well, you were _wrong_. How’s it feel to be the clueless one, huh?” Thomas asks, but doesn’t give Newt time to answer before he kisses him again.

“So, I’m not trying to fish for compliments here, but,” Thomas says, later, when they’re on his bed and he’s peppering quick, tender kisses all over Newt’s face. Now that they’ve started, Thomas can’t seem to stop showing his affection. He doesn’t ever want to stop. “How long have you wanted this? With me?” 

“I can’t really say,” Newt responds, laying on his back and looking up at Thomas with an amused grin. “I think the feelings have always been there, in some way or another. So let’s just say for a long time, yeah?”

The unanticipated answer makes Thomas freeze. “Really?”

Newt confirms his statement with a soft hum, absentmindedly playing with a loose strand of Thomas’ hair that hangs down on his forehead. “Is that so hard to believe? I’ll admit it—you can be quite irresistible sometimes.”

Thomas groans, slumping over to bury his face in Newt’s neck to hide the way he’s doubtlessly turning redder by the second. “Don’t say stuff like that.”

Newt’s body shakes as he laughs. His warm hands come up to rest on Thomas’ back, pleasantly igniting his skin through the thin material of his t-shirt. “Why not? I didn’t believe you even for a second when you said that you _weren’t_ fishing for compliments.”

“Fine,” Thomas says, lifting his head to look Newt in the eye. He likes compliments, _sue him_. “You know me better than I know myself. That what you wanna hear?”

“Mhm,” Newt confirms, reaching out to cup his cheek. The smirk has been wiped off his face—he looks completely serious as he says, “You’re _mine_.”

Thomas’ heart soars. No, forget that, it fucking _skyrockets_. “I am? Like, officially?”

“‘Course, love. If that’s what you want.”

“That’s all I want,” Thomas whispers, leaning into Newt’s— _his boyfriend’s!_ —touch, grinning wildly at the new nickname he’s been given. “This is crazy, I can’t believe this is happening right now.”

Newt rolls his eyes. “God, you’re soppy.”

“Yeah, Teresa says it’s because I’m a Leo, or whatever,” Thomas laughs, then freezes at the thought of his friend. “Wait, speaking of Teresa... I have news for you.”

Newt looks intrigued. “Oh? Do tell.”

“You know that she has a crush on Minho, right?”

“Obviously.”

“Right—and Minho feels the same way about her! He told me a couple of days ago! Man, keeping that secret from Teresa has been _killing_ me.”

“Well, what are we supposed to do about it, Tommy? Those two have been pining over each other since the start of time. You said you had _news_.”

“Hold on, I was getting to that. What you don’t realize is that we—yes, you and me—we are the cure to all their pining.”

Newt frowns, and Thomas dives into the story of Minho and Brenda’s bet, plus Minho’s plans for prom. Newt’s smile gets progressively wider as he goes on. And then—yup, there it is—his signature eye roll. Fond, yet vicious. 

“Those _bastards_ ,” he mutters, “they couldn’t have just minded their own business? They had to _bet_ on us?”

“Apparently,” Thomas shrugs. “And if Minho wins, he’ll be rich, and Teresa will get her dream date to prom. Ta-da, everybody’s happy.”

“Except Brenda.”

“Uh, yeah. But she’ll be fine! So let’s text Minho and tell him about us. If—I mean, if that’s okay with you?”

“I thought we’d already established this,” Newt murmurs, continuing to softly run his hands over Thomas’ back in comforting, circular motions. “You’re mine. _Officially_ , yeah?”

“Yeah,” Thomas breathes, smiling like never before. This, right here, is all he’s ever wanted. Even though it took him a while to realize it. 

“Good that,” Newt says. “Now, give me your phone.”

Thomas does as he’s told, and Newt plants a sloppy kiss to his mouth as he snaps a picture of the moment. It’s a little blurry, but Newt’s arm is around Thomas and they’re both smiling into the kiss—and it’s absolutely perfect. 

Minho responds _immediately_. 

_[2:38 -_ **_Minho_** _] !!! motherfucking FINALLY_

 _[2:38 -_ **_Minho_** _] I am so rich_

 _[2:39 -_ **_Minho_** _] thank u, my favorite gays. gonna call T now and ask her out_

 _[2:39 -_ **_Minho_** _] wish me luck fam_

 _[2:40 -_ **_Minho_** _] oh and also... congrats._

 _good luck! and thanks min!! [2:41 -_ **_Thomas_** _]_

 _double date soon? [2:41 -_ **_Thomas_** _]_

 _[2:41 -_ **_Minho_** _] ew. in ur dreams_

 _[2:42 -_ **_Minho_** _] well I guess that’s what we’ve been doing this whole time lol_

 _[2:42 -_ **_Minho_** _] do u think brenda likes being the 5th wheel?_

 _definitely not [2:43 -_ **_Thomas_** _]_

 _[2:44 -_ **_Minho_** _] then yes lmao. double dates all day every day_ 😈

 _[2:44 -_ **_Minho_** _] gtg_

 _[3:02 -_ **_Minho_** _] SHE SAID YES!!!!!!!!!_

“Fantastic,” Newt deadpans when Minho’s final text comes through. “That’s enough charity work for one day, I think. I now _demand_ to have you all to myself for the rest of it.”

Thomas blushes, tosses his phone away, and presses a gentle kiss to the underside of his jaw. “That can be arranged.”

  
  


“My theory,” Teresa says, “is that the people down in Hollywood _love_ to make a big deal out of this stuff. You know, the whole ‘you have to break up before college, because you’re gonna be separated soon anyway’. I think it’s boring. I mean, look at us, we proved that trope wrong. Denver has dozens of schools, so we’re all gonna be within driving distance of each other at pretty much all times.”

“Hell yeah!” Minho exclaims, wrapping an arm around Teresa’s shoulder to pull her closer. “Look at us, baby. We’re defying the odds!”

Thomas, Newt, and Brenda all groan simultaneously.

It’s late June, now, and they’re on the gigantic couch in Brenda’s living room, celebrating the seemingly eternal period of freedom and summer ahead of them. 

Prom had been fun, but Coach Janson had caught Brenda in the act when she tried to pour some gin into her soda. The guy has a weirdly strong sense of smell. Anyway, they obviously had to kick her out, so Minho came up with the awesome idea to leave early and drive down to City Park to get drunk instead. It didn’t turn out to be the end to high school that Thomas had been expecting, but it was better than anything he could’ve imagined.

They stayed up till the sunrise, and when they were sober enough to drive again, Fry dropped them off at their respective homes. Newt followed Thomas home, however, and his mom stepped out of the front door at the exact moment they arrived, presumably going to work. Whenever Thomas looks back on that, he laughs out loud when he imagines how insane they must’ve looked when they were coming down the street toward her; two delirious teenage boys with grass stains all over their fancy clothes. He remembers them both being so tired that they were laughing at absolutely everything but also nothing, and they were holding hands, kissing each other between every other word, so free and filled with euphoria that they didn’t know what to do with it all. 

It’s not the way Thomas had planned to come out to his mom, but it turned out fine. Once she understood that they weren’t drunk off their asses (anymore), she hugged them both tight and admitted that she’d seen this coming for a while. 

Graduation was a blast, too. An emotional one, but a blast all the same. Thomas would be lying if he said that he didn’t shed any tears that day. 

His favorite part of it, though, was when Newt pulled him in for a passionate kiss that left him overwhelmingly breathless and unable to open his eyes for a moment afterward. 

“Where did that come from, huh?” He’d asked since Newt had never really been a fan of PDA. 

“What, can’t I kiss my boyfriend in public?” Was Newt's response, and Thomas just figured that the sentimentality was finally getting to him. 

But then Thomas spotted Jack making his way past them through the crowd of blue graduation gowns, and he just smiled to himself and pretended not to notice. 

Thomas is pulled back to the present when Brenda’s dad comes into the lounge with an enormous jug of ice tea. 

“God _damn_ , it’s hot today,” he states, setting the tray down on the table in front of the couch. “Here, kids. Have some of my famous peach tea.” 

Minho’s eyes get wide at the sight. “You’re the man, Jorge! Thanks.”

“Dad, what are you talking about? You bought this at Whole Foods,” Brenda says, rolling her eyes dramatically. Thomas has to hide a fit of laughter in the crook of Newt’s neck.

“You don’t know that, Bren. Anyway, how’s it feel to finally have graduated, guys?” Jorge asks, rubbing his hands together and joining them at the end of the couch. He has an ever-present twinkle of silliness and youth in his eyes that never seems to go away. “What are your plans for the summer?”

“We’re just gonna do whatever the hell we want, I think,” Thomas hears himself say, surprising himself and his friends. 

Jorge whoops loudly. “That’s the spirit, Tommo!”

Newt squeezes his hand and looks at him in a way that dissolves any doubts in Thomas’ mind—they are going to have the best summer of their whole lives, and he’s not gonna care about pleasing anyone but himself. 

And, uh... Newt, sometimes. In a different way, though.

Yeah. That sounds good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO FUCKING CORNY. I DON'T KNOW HOW TO FEEL ABOUT MYSELF. i hope yall liked the ending though. as always, thanks for reading n leaving kudos/comments. it means The World To Me.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!!! kudos and comments r always welcome hehe <3  
> here's my [twitter!](https://twitter.com/fIarevirus)


End file.
